Liberation
by Barbara Barnett
Summary: Based on the Fox extended preview. House is running. Short, oneshot, very introspective piece regarding House's new circumstances. Author also known as SASMOM. Editedcorrections 815.


Liberation

In House's head again (what an interesting place to be, though!) Based on the preview of season three aired on Fox. Content is completely G-rated. One shot.

The trick was to keep running. To keep pushing. Forget about fairy-tale endings and Humpty-Dumpty crash landings. If he just kept running, it would be alright.

Two months. A set-back. Maybe two. Three at the most. Two months without pain. What was that like? _God_, what was that like!

House had once liked the zoo. There, he could watch the animals he'd seen in his childhood of exotic places. But no longer. Not even those zoos where the animals could roam free. He couldn't bear the pacing. The knowing. The understanding of what it was like to live caged, chained and shackled. No freedom; no real life, outside of just simply surviving. It hit too close to home.

He was free. He felt the invincibility that can only come with being a true survivor.

The thing about neuropathic pain is that it consumes you. You and it become one and the same. Every movement, every moment, every thought, every decision--or lack of one, every thought, every day: it's there. Unrelenting, an angry pit bull terrier that has you in its jaws and won't let go. Ever. And if ever it's chased away for a few moments peace, the only lingering feeling being the tooth marks left on a destroyed thigh, you can be certain that it will be back. In a day, in an hour, in five minutes. It's never far from your consciousness.

The thing about the absence of pain, when it's been all you are for eight years, is that you don't quite know what to do with it until it strikes you that it's for real. That it's more than a few minutes' relief. That it's a new state of being. And for House, finally, it simply "was."

He had enjoyed running. His long and powerful legs and wide stride enabled him to nearly fly up trails and down valleys. His heart pumped and the exhilaration was as addictive as opium. And if he kept running, he would never have to stop.

Two months, and the guys in physio could barely believe it. He had wowed them all. So much for laughing at the man with the broken gait, limping along with an old man's cane. He could fly.

When he ran, he could think to the beat of his heart and rhythm of his respirations. This latest case was the first time in years that it had been possible. He had forgotten how much he had missed that. Among so many other things. He had missed. But this was freedom distilled to its essence.

House had run all the way to campus. Eight miles. Plus. Plenty of time to think about the case. Plenty of time for a flash or two of brilliance. This time, the flash didn't come with the pounding of his feet on the pavement, but in its aftermath. It had been a sultry night. And he was hot and tired. A slight cramp had gripped his leg, just above the knee, which was always worrisome.

The fountain on the quad invited and enticed. It was a simple act, but one that would have been impossible just two months earlier. An act that wouldn't have crossed his mind then. He stepped into the shallow water, shoes and all. The play of water and lights and the rainbow prisms they created lured and intoxicated. He felt liberated in the spray, letting it wash over him, purify him, calm him. Inspire him.

And ultimately he had been right. About the patient, never mind the Ketamine. Forget the chorus of those who would criticize him, ridicule him, cluck their tongues at him, even those who would call him "best friend." He had been right.

"A lucky guess, indeed." As he was fond of explaining, what he did was no party trick, no flip of a card, no sleight of hand. Never had been. And now that he was free, his gift was sharper, more focused, less obscured by narcotics competing with his brain cells, less distracted by alternate searing and throbbing of his leg.

Two months. And he was running. He was free. He could ignore Wilson's wary words and Cuddy's worried expression. "You'll crash." Wilson had said. Or was he referring to a patient? Now he wasn't sure, his mind wandering as the cool water sprayed over his body. The puzzle of patient whatever-his-name-was solved for the moment. He couldn't crash. Not if he kept running.

"The Ketamine could wear off." That was Cuddy. That was _so_ Cuddy. Cautious to the core. Except for this one time. "Cure me and you'll be able to absolve yourself. No more guilt. You'll cure yourself, too." But now she was back to the ordinary world of "careful." Too bad, we could have had fun here dancing together on the cliff. A bit scary, but what a view!

House's heart rate had returned to normal, his breathing: slow and even. He had to share his flash about the patient. Right now. No matter that it's 2 a.m. Who needs sleep when you're truly liberated? If only he could keep running. He was free.


End file.
